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About the author:
After reading women’s fiction for many years, Joyce knew she wanted to create stories of her own. As the mother of four grown daughters, she’s familiar with the problems women face finding love, raising children, and stepping back when necessary. All of her books place an emphasis on love and family dynamics. She is happiest when she’s secluded in her office creating new worlds and people to populate them. When she’s not taxing her brain with plot, structure, and grammar, she likes to sew, particularly quilts. When she really wants to rest her brain, she sprawls out in front of the TV and tries not to fall asleep.
What inspired you to write your book?
My daughter in college mentioned that a classmate had just been contacted by his biological parents. My writer’s mind went into overdrive, and I started thinking what if that wasn’t his real father after all. From there, the what ifs just kept coming.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Sample from Book:
He looked up from his weeding, spotted her, then rose in one agile motion. No groan, no hunched posture, his back as straight as a boy’s. It bothered Kate that she would notice.
“Sorry to disturb your gardening,” she said in a cool voice. “I didn’t know you were out here.”
He brushed the soil from his hands. “I try to stay on top of things when I have the chance. Marti likes to can and freeze, so I do my best to keep her happy.”
“Oh, by all means. Do keep Marti happy.”
He cocked his head, as if wondering whether to respond to her flip remark. He chose to ignore it. “So what did you two talk about in there?”
She harrumphed. “As if you didn’t know.”
His lips pulled into a frown. “I can guess.”
“Look, Kate, if you have a problem being here, why did you come?” His voice took on an edge of its own.
“You know very well I couldn’t refuse.”
“Well, you’re here now, and you obviously have something to say, so get it out of your system.”
Kate fought an overwhelming desire to flee. She didn’t like confrontations but, dammit, she did have something to say. And this time she wouldn’t run off in tears. This time she would tell him exactly what she thought of him and his baby-stealing sister.
“You’re right,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I didn’t come outside to admire your gardening talents. I came out because I’d had enough of your sister’s sob story. I’m not about to forgive and forget, live and let live, and all that crap. You had your fun, then you went on your merry way while I spent the summer carrying a child I didn’t even have the privilege of raising. Oh, no. That honor belonged to you and your family.”
“I made a bad choice, Kate. I’m not proud of it. What more can I say?”
A gust of wind caught Kate’s skirt, billowing it around her knees. But like the green things rooted in the soil nearby, all she could do was shiver and sway.
“It’s still a bit chilly out, Kate. Why don’t you go inside now?”
Trembling, Kate stood fast. “She said you didn’t know. Is that true?”
“You never suspected anything, anywhere along the line?”
“How could you not know? He’s got your hair, your eyes.”
“He was only a baby when they brought him home, Kate. To a guy, all babies look alike. Hey, it happened; I’m sorry. Now can we get past it and go on with our lives?”